


Bodhi - The brittle, broken parts

by Munnin



Series: Rogue One Cycle [16]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 15:05:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9277316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Munnin/pseuds/Munnin
Summary: Inside Saw Gerrera's prison lay the broken pieces of what was once Bodhi Rook.





	

He huddled against the stone, surrounded by… rounded things. With holes in them. And teeth.

Skulls? Was that the word? 

They were the things under the surface, right? The things that were supposed to protect the bits inside from the things outside. 

That was what they did, wasn’t it? 

Protect the insides.

Only, his didn’t, did it? It didn’t keep the things outside from the thing inside. 

The things outside got inside anyway. 

And made the thing inside all… broken. 

He was broken. All broken. The things inside. 

The _him_ inside was all broken. 

There was a sound; a word that meant the him inside. Only it was broken too.

Was it broken? Or just missing. 

If it was missing, how would he find it? 

And if it was broken, could he made it whole again?

Did he know how? Had he ever known? Or was that one of the broken things?

Or was it missing too?

He huddled against the stone. His… _everything_ ached. Even the things he didn’t have the sounds for.

All of the broken bits of him hurt. 

The more he tried to concentrate on the broken bits, the more it hurt. 

So he stopped. 

Stopped thinking. Stopped trying to find to broken parts. Just stopped. 

Food was pushed under the door. At least he thinks it was food. The part of him that handled foot wasn’t interested. No part of him was interested. In anything.

But the stiller he was, the less broken he felt. The bits that hurt, hurt less. 

Pieces. The broken pieces. 

Sometimes, when he was still, they seemed almost big enough. Almost real.

Rain. Lots of rain. So much more than the brief storms of- of where? Of somewhere that feels like home, only wasn’t. Somewhere that felt like a memory.

But this place was different. Dark and wet. And sharp. Not like the other place. The place that was cold and bright and crumbly. 

No, the dark, wet place. Focus on that. 

It was… safe? No, not safe. Dangerous. Always dangerous. But… _happy_. He was happy there. Even in danger he was happy. 

Why?

He tried to hold onto that thought. Tried to make it real. Real enough to see, to feel. 

But it made the broken bits ache again. 

So he stopped. And made himself go still. 

Made the rock go away, the rotting food, the smells, the skulls.

Ha! Skulls! That was the word. The word for the thing that didn’t keep the outside out. Or protect the insides from breaking all to bits. 

He might have slept. He might have just gone still and slow. It was hard to tell. There wasn’t any way to tell. The light was always… wrong. 

But while he was maybe sleeping, more bits came back. Different bits. 

A scruffy man with blood dark eyes. A man who made him feel- safe? Good? 

A man he trusted. A man he… loved? 

A man who sent him…

There was another man. A man who… sounded wrong? Breathed wrong? A man not really a man. Not mostly a man? 

The mostly not a man who… who did… who gave him to… 

The thing. The bad thing. The inside breaking thing.

No, it hurt too much. He couldn’t. 

He curled in on himself, hiding his head in his hands. 

Did the man he felt like love send him to the man who broke him all over? 

Had the man with the blood dark eyes ever truly love him? Was that all lies? 

Even the thought made him weep. 

He couldn’t remember the man’s name. But his heart was broken, just like the rest of him. 

He could feel love, remember it. But it felt like something sharp and bitter. 

He started to cough, his body thrashing as if he could get it out. 

Bitter love. Poisoned love. 

Love that used him and sent him to pain. To death. 

The man who promised. And the man who hurt. 

He was ready to go still. Go still forever and not hurt anymore. 

He was broken. Too broken to make whole. 

It would be so much easier to just… go still and stay still. There were monsters. Not in the dark, but inside him. In between the broken bits. 

Something warm had turned dust and cold and sharp inside him. 

And then there was a voice. 

_“Are you the pilot? Hey, hey—are you the pilot? The shuttle pilot?”_

The broken bits turned and twisted, making him shake all over. He moaned, unsure he even heard the sound. “Pilot?” That sounded worse. Not really a word. Just a sound. Something like speech only… not really. Just an echo made by the space between the broke bits. 

_Another voice. “What’s wrong with him?”_

_The first voice returned. “Bodhi Rook?”_

He flinched away, some broken bit crying. He wanted that sound. It belonged to him. But he could hold it. It was too small. 

_“Galen Erso. You know that name?”_

He keened. It hurt so much. He loved that word sound. He wanted to love that sound. But it hurt. It was sharp and bitter sound.

But it was bright too. Bright and warm. It made the other sound louder, more real. It made everything more real. 

He coughed, making sounds, saying words. Like they were new. Only they weren’t. They were his words. Like the words _Bodhi Rook_ , they belonged to him. “I brought the message,” he said. “I’m the pilot. I’m the pilot. I’m the pilot.”

In the darkness, Bodhi lifted his eyes. And felt… hope.


End file.
